


The Set-Up

by ritawheeler



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritawheeler/pseuds/ritawheeler
Summary: Five times Ren tried to set Bull and Dorian up, and one time he accidentally succeded.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	The Set-Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DracoCustos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoCustos/gifts).



> Full disclosure: this is pure, tooth-rotting fluff. I really hope you like it even if it's not exactly what you expected. <3

**I.**

It had been obvious from the start that there was _something_ between Bull and Dorian. ‘Tension’ seemed the most obvious word, but Ren wasn’t sure it encapsulated the full spectrum of their dynamics. On the surface they seemed to be chalk and cheese—yet the more he got to know them, the more he suspected that to be a half-truth at best.

In any case, he couldn’t blame them if sparks did fly. The Tevinter mage and the Qunari spy, forced to work together for the greater good—it sounded like the plot summary for one of Varric’s books. Plus they were both quite easy on the eyes…

But that was neither here nor there.

What he did know was that all the bickering was getting distracting. The three of them made too good a team to leave them behind in Skyhold, but the unresolved sexual tension was now thick enough to cut. Something had to be done. And since Ren seemed to be solving _everyone else’s_ problems these days, he figured he could at least try to help his friends.

They seemed so close, a little push ought to do the trick. So he opted for the simplest possible approach—invite them both to the pub, fail to turn up, hope for the best. He’d even gone so far as to brief Maryden, just to be on the safe side. That’d do it, right?

If only.

Strolling into the Herald’s Rest the morning after, Var’enan was looking forward to some breakfast and a report on last night’s activities. Instead, he was greeted by an exasperated minstrel.

“I tried my best, Inquisitor!” she declared in lieu of ‘good morning’, her usually chipper demeanour subdued. “I played every love song I know, I sent drinks to their table, I—” The woman looked restless, frustrated even. He’d never seen her like this. “But they just _sat there_ and played _cards_ all night! Iron Bull even flirted with one of the serving girls, and she— _Ugh!_ ” Maryden groaned and shook her head.

“Ah well, maybe it wasn’t the right moment,” Ren offered, catching her eye and flashing her a kind smile. He hadn’t expected her to take his small request so seriously, and couldn’t suppress a tug of guilt at how obviously invested she’d become. “What of the girl?”

“Well, she turned up for her shift this morning looking a bit… worse for wear. But very happy,” the bard explained, not meeting his gaze. “It’s a sure sign that she spent the night riding the— Ahem. Well, you know.”

Ren nodded sympathetically. He’d heard plenty about Bull’s exploits, mostly in the form of fervent whispers interspersed with giggling. Most likely that was the serving girls’ idea of subtlety, but for better or worse, there was little that escaped the elf’s notice.

Ah well, he didn’t grudge them their fun, even if he _was_ a little envious. As for Dorian and Bull, what was meant to be would always find a way. Var’enan would see to it personally.

But first, some breakfast.

**II.**

Plan B was a little more complex, but nothing he couldn’t pull off. The idea had more or less sprung up fully formed the moment Dorian had approached him about taking care of a few Venatori agents. The other man had already laid the groundwork, and Leliana had promptly followed up on his leads. All he needed was some backup—and who better to send against Tevinter mages than the Chargers?

Of course, Ren would gladly have gone himself. Dorian seemed to have history with the targets, and for all his bravado, the elf suspected he was more affected than he let on. There was already so much blood on the Inquisition’s hands, and cultists or not, these people had been his friends in a past life…

But Bull was far more perceptive than he let on, and bickering aside, Var’enan had no doubt the other two would be able to look after each other. Plus, who knew, perhaps seeing Dorian show some vulnerability would help bring them together at last?

So it was with a pep in his step that Ren crossed the yard, heading for the training dummies where he could see Bull and Cassandra sparring. The Qunari noticed him first, nodding to the Seeker who turned around as well.

“Inquisitor,” she greeted, and if it was a little dry, the warmth of her voice more than made up for it. “Have you come to speak with myself or Bull?”

Always so matter-of-fact. Ren couldn’t help but like her for it. “Good day, Seeker. I’m afraid it’s your companion I’m after.” He made sure to flash her a smile so she knew she wasn’t being dismissed, and she took a seat nearby to inspect her weapon.

“What can I do for you, boss?” the Qunari inquired, lowering his shield and grinning at Ren.

“I would like you and the Chargers to escort Dorian on a personal mission of some importance,” he began, clasping his hands behind his back like the consummate professional he was.

Except why did Bull look like he was on the verge of laughter?

A little flushed now, the elf cleared his throat and continued, “He’s tracked down several Venatori agents he used to be acquainted with back in Tevinter, and he would like to see them eliminated. I would accompany him myself, but Ambassador Montilyet has seen to it that my schedule is quite full. I trust you and the Chargers will be able to take care of this, yes?”

There, surely that had been sufficiently businesslike to allay any suspicion as to his motives…

For his part, Bull was grinning from ear to ear. “Sure thing, boss. Me and the boys will see to it.”

“Much appreciated. I will let Dorian know you are ready to depart for the Hinterlands posthaste.”

So far so good—yet Ren couldn’t shake the feeling there was something odd about Bull’s smile… Or maybe he was just imagining things. He did always struggle to think straight under the Qunari’s intense gaze.

***

The next couple of weeks passed by in a blur. Var’enan had rather been looking forward to some downtime, envisioning long afternoons reading on the sofa, or maybe going for a ride—but with a ruthless sense of timing, the Ambassador had sniffed out the opportunity and seized it with both hands.

If he wasn’t in a meeting with some visiting dignitary or another, he was reading extensive reports on the political situation in the Free Marches, the state of the troops, the expenses incurred by Leliana’s spies… There truly was no end to it.

On the upside, it did mean he hadn’t precisely _lied_ to Bull.

And speaking of the man, wasn’t it about time he and Dorian returned? They had only ventured out as far as the Hinterlands, it was hardly an arduous journey.

Not that Ren missed them. That would be ridiculously unprofessional of him… rather like trying to set them up, he supposed. But that was different; he was doing it for _them_ , not his own gratification. It certainly wasn’t a way to deal with his own mounting frustration where the two men were concerned. Nope.

It was just over two weeks after they left, when a scout entered Josephine’s office to announce a small group was approaching Skyhold on horseback. Var’enan all but jumped out of his seat, startling the Ambassador who looked up at him sharply.

“Is something the matter, Inquisitor?” she inquired, her usually polite tone rather clipped.

“No! No, I just want to make sure everything went well,” he explained quickly, smiling at her. “The Venatori are tricky bast— _enemies_ , as you know, and I rather wish I’d gone with them.” Well, that much was true, even if it was for his own sake more than theirs.

Still, Josephine nodded, her lips curling into an indulgent smile. “Of course, Your Worship.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” Ren offered by way of goodbye, darting out of the room and making his way down to the courtyard at a half-run.

He got there just as the band passed through the gate—only for the excited flutter in his stomach to turn leaden. Bull was riding at the front, of course, looking rather thoughtful—while Dorian was at the very back, deep in conversation with Krem, of all people!

Still, he wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps this was a recent development, and his two friends had actually made some real progress. He approached the riders just as they were dismounting, pausing by Bull’s massive steed to inspect the group. At least none of them appeared any worse for wear.

“I take it everything went well?” Var’enan asked as the Qunari’s feet hit the ground beside him. He had lost very little height in the process of dismounting, the elf noted.

“All good, boss,” Bull replied, an easy grin making his scarred face glow in the warm light of the sunset. “Dorian even made a new friend.” He nodded back to where the man was still chatting away to Krem.“‘Fraid this one is also a Vint, but at least he’s one of ours.”

Ren did his best to keep his expression neutral, but something must’ve given him away because Bull’s smile flickered momentarily.

“Don’t fret, boss. They just have a lot in common. I’ve had to listen to their plans for rebuilding Tevinter for days now, and there’s not been a single blood magic ritual involved.” He seemed disappointed by this somehow.

Ren knew a lifeline when he was offered one, and so he seized the opportunity. “What’s the matter, Bull? Our Vints not Vinty enough for you?” he teased, grinning up at the horned giant. Fortunately this proved easier than he’d expected. It was hard to look at Bull and _not_ want to smile.

“Not nearly! But if they were I’d have to kill them, so it’s probably for the best.” The Qunari was grinning too now as if nothing had happened. And… did he _wink_? It was hard to tell for obvious reasons, but it hadn’t looked like a normal blink of the eye to Var’enan.

Then again, maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to.

**III.**

Plan C was somewhat less refined and more a spur-of-the-moment thing. They were back in the Hinterlands (where else?), this time accompanied by Cassandra who had her own scores to settle in the area. The scouts had indicated that her target—one Ser Rebenger Torn—wasn’t located far from their own camp, and so as evening fell, Ren prepared to leave.

“We going somewhere, boss?” Bull asked from across the campfire, startling Var’enan. He’d been sharpening his greataxe with such singular focus and dedication that the elf was sure he’d have evaded notice. But nothing ever slipped past Bull, did it?

“I think Cassandra and I should be fine to handle this on our own,” Ren offered as he strapped the quiver to his back. “The scouts indicate a small group, and we have the element of surprise— _and_ the higher ground.”

Bull laughed at this; it was a deep, rich rumble of a laugh that seemed to well up from the pit of his stomach, and it sent a warm shiver down Ren’s spine. “Sounds good. What should we do while you’re out?”

“No, please, let us not do anything,” Dorian protested from his position under a nearby tree, eyes never leaving the book in his lap. “I only just managed to get comfortable and I’d hate to—”

“Maybe you should make dinner,” Cassandra quipped, turning her head to flash Ren a lopsided smile. Her playful side still took him by surprise sometimes, but he was already quite fond of it.

Unsurprisingly enough, Dorian looked appalled. “Not a chance in—”

“No, no, she has a point,” Bull interrupted, levelling the mage with a calm gaze. “We might as well make ourselves useful. I’ll catch something if you cook it?”

Dorian sighed, rolling his eyes so far back Ren wondered if he could see his own skull. “Oh very well then,” he said finally. “But at least let me finish my chapter.”

“Can do,” replied Bull, and with that their conversation seemed to be over. He offered Ren a parting grin. “Good luck, boss!”

***

It hadn’t been a clean fight, but they’d prevailed in the end. As suspected, the high ground had played a part, with the elf able to sink a good few arrows before he’d been pulled into the fray. Even then, Cassandra was exceptional at keeping the heat off him, and together they had made quick work of the men.

Still, the walk back to camp felt far longer than the one out, both of them moving slowly as they nursed various cuts and bruises.

“Do you reckon they’ve actually made dinner?” Var’enan joked, eager to make conversation in the hopes it might just make the time go a little faster.

“I should hope so,” Cassandra began in her usual flat tone before cracking into a tired smile. “But I fear they are just as likely to have burned the camp down.”

In the end, her fears proved unfounded—but nor was Ren’s vision of domestic bliss anywhere near the truth. Indeed, the only difference to how they’d left the pair was a pot of something or other bubbling over the campfire. Bull was leaning against the same rock, although in all fairness he was now mending a shield and not sharpening his axe. For his part, Dorian seemed a fair bit further in his book than when they’d left, but that was about it.

Ren stifled a tired groan and plopped down by the fire, helping himself to some stew.

“Thanks for dinner, guys,” he murmured, trying to keep the petulant note out of his voice. Bloody idiots didn’t have a clue, did they…

“You’re welcome, boss.”

Over his head, Dorian and Bull exchanged a glance, each man concealing a smile of his own.

**IV.**

By this point, Ren had to admit he was getting frustrated. Had he misread the signs? But then, just the other day they’d been bonding over the futility of Tevinter’s constant pissing contest with the Qunari. Well, not so much ‘bonding’ as grudgingly admitting the two sides weren’t so different after all, but same difference. In any case, it was _progress_.

Yet all his attempts to nudge them along had fallen flat… Clearly it was time for more drastic measures.

Var’enan would never admit the length of time he’d spent devising this next step, but in the end he had it—an itemised list of presents for each man, carefully picked to be just thoughtful enough that it might have come from the other. It took a couple more weeks and a trip to Val Royeaux to acquire the gifts themselves, but eventually it all came together nicely; his _masterstroke_.

He figured he’d start slow, with the least personal presents, saving the best for last—should things come to that. One way or another, _this would work._ It had to.

Otherwise he would be well and truly out of ideas.

First came the whetstone and the bottle of wine, complete with an anonymous little note to the tune of ‘enjoy!’. They weren’t groundbreaking as presents went, but it was a start. A couple of hours after dispatching Jim to drop them off, Ren figured he could safely go and check on their recipients. He routinely swung by to speak to them both anyway, certainly more often than anyone else, so there would be nothing suspicious about his appearance… He hoped.

Dorian was marginally closer and so Var’enan made for the library first. The other man was in his usual spot, sprawled into the overstuffed armchair he’d commandeered on arrival. He had his nose in a book, too, just to complete the picture, and Ren paused to admire the view for a moment.

Now there was a fine specimen of humanity. From his long graceful limbs to the nonchalant look on handsome features, he might as well have been carved in marble. Draped over the armchair as he was, Dorian still maintained a sense of poise that most men couldn’t pull off if they tried—and worst of all, he made it look _effortless_.

Ren still hadn’t quite figured out if he wanted to _be_ Dorian Pavus, or _do_ Dorian Pavus, more.

“Can I help you, Inquisitor?”

Startled, Var’enan nearly jumped out of his skin. Fortunately the mage’s eyes remained firmly on his book, although the corners of his lips did seem to twitch… Come to think of it, why was Ren staring at his mouth?

“Ahem. Yes. I was wondering if you, uh—” Shit, he hadn’t thought this far! He looked around, latching onto the first thing he could see. “If you had any book recommendations for me. I have some downtime in the evenings that the Ambassador hasn’t cottoned onto yet, and would like to spend it productively.”

_Smooth. You might just get away with this one..._

“Oh, most certainly!” Dorian exclaimed as he set the book down and got to his feet, “I thought you’d never ask! Would you like these in order of preference, or alphabetically?”

Only then did Ren notice there was a familiar bottle of wine on the floor by the armchair, but the other man was already pulling books off shelves. There was no way you could get a word in edgeways when Pavus started on any topic, especially books, and so the elf resigned himself to the inevitable.

Half an hour later, he departed from the library with a stack of books the height of a small child, all personally annotated by Dorian. If nothing else, it made for a comfortable chin rest as he trudged up to his quarters, where he deposited it in a corner, never to be looked at again.

Sneaking these back into the library would be an ordeal in itself…

Hopefully his visit to Bull would prove more fruitful at least. The Qunari was in his usual spot, too (so kind of everyone to be available at all times!), except rather than his preferred pastime of people-watching, he was sharpening a small knife. Or more accurately, a fairly large knife that looked small in his hands.

In any case, he was actually using the whetstone Ren had picked out! It was a handsome piece of kit, made of banded slate in deep, coppery red and cool grey, and it glimmered in the torchlight with every nimble movement of Bull’s fingers.

Not for the first time, Ren had to admire the loving patience and dedication with which the other man treated his equipment. He wasn’t precious about it on the battlefield, but in his downtime seemed to take great joy in maintaining it to a high standard. Perhaps it was the repetitive, familiar quality of the action that was soothing; Ren was certainly mesmerised by it, the deftness of Bull’s touch surprising and yet not at all—

“You alright there, boss?”

He had to stop letting these two get the jump on him. “Yes, of course. Just came in to grab some—” What time of day was it even? It felt like he’d been standing there forever. “Some lunch.”

“Bit late for lunch, isn’t it?” the Qunari observed, a playful slant to his lips even as he remained focused on his work.

“Yes, well, I got… carried away, in the library.” Not a lie, in all fairness—so why were the tips of his ears burning? He pushed on, steadying his voice. “Dorian was giving me some book recommendations.”

This got a laugh out of Bull for some reason. “Assigning the Inquisitor reading material? Bet he loved that.”

“You have no idea,” Ren admitted with a smile of his own, relaxing a little at the memory. Dorian beaming at him over a pile of books was an image he’d cherish for the rest of his life.

Bull finally looked up, meeting his eyes and nodding slowly. Why did every one of his smiles look so smug lately? _What did he know?_ “Don’t let me keep you from your lunch, boss.”

And still no mention of the present… Ren barely suppressed a huff and stalked off to the bar in pursuit of said sustenance. Maybe he’d think better on a full stomach.

***

Alas, the next set of presents went down much the same way. He’d _seen_ both Bull and Dorian enjoy them, the former sharing his chocolate with the Chargers, and the latter sipping on a cup of coffee as he reorganised the library for the fourth time in as many weeks. Yet neither of them had mentioned anything to him, nor had he seen them in conversation at any point.

Perhaps it was time to pull out all the stops?

Ren only had two more gifts up his sleeve, but these were the good ones. He’d had to send to Kirkwall for one and the university for the other. If they didn’t get the two men talking, nothing would, he was sure of it.

He went the extra mile, too, carefully wrapping Dorian’s shiny new copy of the _Liberalum_ and Bull’s jar of horn balm. One was markedly easier to do than the other, but he did his best anyway. There would be no notes this time, though; it seemed pointless. Sera had probably been right all along when she’d said he hadn’t gone far enough. Still, he was loath to outright lie to his friends and sign their names—even if it would definitely do the trick.

The presents were deposited at their doorsteps just before dawn, and then he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Not a peep from either man. He did his usual rounds, nipping into the library to drop off another book (“Oh yes, absolutely loved this one, Dorian! Real eye-opened on early modern Tevinter history!”) and then the Herald’s Rest for lunch (“Recommend the roast, boss, they’ve outdone themselves in the kitchen.”)—and _not a word_ about the immensely thoughtful presents they had received just that morning!

He was starting to think they were messing with him.

By the time he made it back to his quarters, Ren was exhausted. From archery practice, to signing documents, to overseeing training drills, he’d hardly been able to focus all day, his mind running in circles over everything that had happened lately. What was he missing?

His legs leaden as he climbed the stairs, he nearly tripped over the neat little package on his doorstep. It was square, probably a hand’s width across, and tied with a silk bow. Had he been less tired, Ren likely would’ve thought twice about opening it—after all, half of Thedas must’ve wanted him dead by now. Yet in that moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

If this was how he went, well... So be it.

He made it as far as the bed before collapsing, the present clutched to his chest. Beneath the paper there was a wooden box, and inside it a most marvellous little object—a June’s Knot! He hadn’t seen one of these since he was a kid, and his fingers trembled a little as he turned it round and round in the faint candlelight.

It was far more exquisitely crafted than anything his parents would’ve let him play with as a child, but there was no doubt as to its purpose. An unsolvable little puzzle to keep idle hands occupied. Ren could feel the tears pricking at his eyes as he toyed with it. Every ounce of homesickness he’d felt since the Conclave was rushing back all at once, settling on his chest like a physical weight and making it hard to breathe.

Belatedly, he noticed a little card that had fallen out of the paper as he’d torn it apart, mercifully intact. Dorian’s neat handwriting, painfully familiar now from his excessive fondness for marginalia, stared down at Ren.

“Something else to keep you entertained. —D&B”

 _Those bastards_.

**V.**

Taken aback by the gift, Var’enan spent weeks mulling things over. Perhaps it had been a mistake to try and interfere in the first place? The puzzle, and especially the note that had come with it, made it sound like the other two wanted to be left alone. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d stepped on people’s toes, good intentions or not…

So leave them he did. It wasn’t as though there were no other issues vying for his attention anyway; the business of leading the Inquisition had never seemed quite so serious as it did in the aftermath of Halamshiral.

He, a Dalish elf, had single-handedly shaped the future of Orlais.

Oh he’d consulted everyone, of course, weighed up all options—and he hadn’t fought alone either. But when push came to shove, it had been his call to make. His hands stained with Gaspard’s blood.

Not that he regretted that last part too much. He’d heard of the Chevaliers, and in particular of what they liked to do in Alienages. Growing up in the city may not have been his lot in life, but to people like de Chalons, all ‘knife-ears’ were the same.

No, the would-be Emperor would _not_ be missed.

What Ren _did_ miss was the distraction of coming up with increasingly convoluted plots to bring Bull and Dorian together. They were still easily his preferred travel companions, but with no silly schemes to keep him occupied, being around the two men was becoming h— _difficult._

To make matters worse, the Emerald Graves made for a dismal backdrop to his already bleak state of mind. Intellectually, he knew he ought to enjoy the scenery—and the gorgeous weather they’d lucked out on. Dorian and Cassandra certainly did, milling about camp barefoot with their shirts rolled up to the elbows and bickering like kids. Even Bull seemed to savour the sunlight, but then, he needed little excuse to shed clothes.

 _So why can’t I just lighten up?_ Var’enan mused one afternoon as he took stock of their rations. It was a stupid question with an obvious answer, of course. No amount of sunshine and greenery could erase the fact that they now travelled through a literal graveyard of his ancestors. And not just any Dalish, but the best and bravest among them; their sworn protectors. He’d grown up with tales of the Emerald Knights, yet to stand among their graves was an experience nothing could have prepared him for.

Still, he had to be pragmatic. As much as he’d have liked to get this chapter of the journey over and done with, the temperatures were simply too high to do anything right now. They’d tried at first, until protective gear had turned into a heatstroke liability, swords slipping out of sweaty grips. Even the usually stoic Seeker had refused to don her armour until the heat broke.

They had gone so far as to give up half their tents to a group of scouts, who’d lost theirs in a Giant-related incident. Sleeping under the stars had never seemed so alluring as it did after a day cooking in one’s own skin.

So it was that midday once again found them resting. To the left of the tents—all two of them—Cassandra was leaning against a tree trunk and flipping through some book, seemingly enraptured. Bull was gently working balm into his horns with an expression of such utter bliss that it made Ren a little hot(ter) under the collar. And as had become his custom, Dorian napped in a sunny spot not far off, one arm under his head and the other draped across his abdomen.

It was a cliché, but he looked so much younger in his sleep. His usually expressive face at rest, the man seemed closer to Ren’s age than Bull and Cassandra’s, and so… innocent, almost. _Now there’s a word I never thought I’d use to describe Dorian Pavus._

But beneath the bravado, Dorian was many things Ren had never expected. Perhaps even innocent.

“Uh, boss—” There was a note of warning in the Qunari’s voice that immediately put Var’enan on guard.

He looked around, but could spot nothing out of the ordinary. “What’s up, Bull?”

The other man said nothing, merely nodded up at the sky. Following his gaze, Ren could finally see what all the fuss was about: to the east, dark billowing clouds were coming down from the Frostbacks and moving fast in their general direction.

“Think it might pass us yet?” Ren tried, but he knew well enough himself—with winds that strong up there, it was unlikely that the storm would change course in time.

Bull laughed at that, shaking his head as he looked to the elf. “Sure. And cows might fly over Minrathous.”

“Hey, that one’s actually true,” Dorian joined in from where he was lying a few paces away, his eyes still closed.

Cassandra’s gasp at the revelation was audible. “Really?!”

“It was one time, all right. And they didn’t have wings,” the mage added, as if that would clear everything up.

***

Ren was seldom wrong where weather was concerned, and the storm was no exception. By nightfall it was clear they were directly in its path. He watched for lightning, counting slowly and listening out for the thunder that always followed. It was drawing close, and fast.

“Reckon the tents will hold up?” he murmured in Bull’s direction.

The Qunari grunted noncommittally, crouching down to inspect the tentpoles. “Probably. Depends on the wind.”

Cassandra frowned as she watched the clouds overtake them, trailing sheets of heavy rain in their wake. “We should put all the equipment away,” she said brusquely, rushing to grab anything metal she could find and chuck it inside one of the open tents.

“Speaking of tents…” Dorian began, a hesitant lift to his voice. “Last time I checked, there were four of us and only two of them.”

The silence that descended was thick enough to spread on toast. Ren could swear everyone must’ve heard the _ding!_ of an idea popping up in his head, unbidden.

“I think I’m the only one who can squeeze in beside all of the Seeker’s equipment,” he offered, giving her what he hoped would be a meaningful glance. _Please don’t argue now of all times, Cassandra…_

To her credit, she nodded slowly. “The Inquisitor is right. We do not have much choice.”

As if on cue, Bull chuckled to himself, while Dorian let out the kind of long-suffering groan that suggested he was being asked to go without wine for a week. Neither man met the other’s eye, but they didn’t protest either.

_Progress!_

And he hadn’t even had to scheme this time.

***

Ren had fully expected to be kept up that night, but the manner in which it came to pass was decidedly not what he’d had in mind. Bull and Dorian were loud all right—as in, they loudly bickered over Seheron, wagered their rations on games of cards, and swapped tales of their time in Minrathous late into the night, all under the guise of keeping first watch.

For her part, Cassandra seemed to sleep like a baby, out cold before Var’enan had so much as wished her goodnight. That left him lying on his side, a vambrace digging into his lower back, while the sounds of laughter and teasing occasionally cut through the torrential rain. He almost wished the tent would just collapse on his head.

 _At least they’re talking_ , he consoled himself as he grasped for sleep again and again, to no avail.

**VI.**

After the tent-sharing debacle, Var’enan well and truly gave up. He was still convinced the other two fancied each other—that they’d be perfect together, in fact—but it was clear that his meddling had accomplished little. At the end of the day, they were adults and would take things at their own pace.

He just wished they’d get on with it because all the flirting was wearing him down. It had been a conscious decision not to get involved with any of his inner circle, one made early on in the journey, but with each passing day his bed felt colder and colder.

Moments of respite were now few and far between, too, what with the Grey Warden situation becoming more complicated by the minute. He’d been a fool to think Crestwood might be the end of it, and as he dragged himself up the stairs to his quarters, Ren could’ve sworn his boots were still squelching. Thrice damned place, that…

Rubbing his eyes as he kicked the door shut behind him, he didn’t even notice the massive figure in the corner of his bedchamber, let alone the smaller one leaning against his desk.

“Uh, boss?”

He could’ve sworn his soul left his body at the sound. “ _Fenedhis_ , Bull! What are you doing here?”

The Qunari cleared his throat and looked to Dorian—

Dorian?! Had he been standing there the whole time?

“We figured it was time we had a chat with you,” the mage began, his tone unusually serious. This didn’t sound good.

Had he pissed them off that badly?

“Um… Sure. What’s the matter?” Ren managed, his hands already shaking. Here were the two people he cared about most in the world, and they wanted to _talk_ ; he was willing to bet his stomach had never tied itself in knots quite so quickly before.

“We know what you’re doing, boss,” Bull began, pushing himself off the wall and crossing the distance between them in a few strides. “Or trying to,” he added, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

“We appreciate it, we really do,” Dorian chimed in. The expression he wore as he drew level with Bull was unexpectedly open, softening the regal lines of his face. “But it’s not… right.”

This… was not going how he’d expected. “What do you mean? If you wanted me to b-back off, you should’ve said something; I-I just wanted what was b—”

“Best for us?” Bull finished, his smile falling a little. “Don’t see it, do you? And I thought Dorian was bad.”

“Hey! We had an agreement,” Dorian protested, and Ren’s stomach sank. Of course they’d had something in place; it was obvious looking back…

“Not that type of agreement, boss,” Bull hurried to add, as if he’d read his thoughts. “Sort of.”

What the hell was going on? And why were they both being so _vague_? “Will anyone _please_ tell me what’s happening?” Ren pleaded, looking from one man to the other. “What did I do wrong?”

They exchanged a quick glance, and then Bull began. “We know you’ve been trying to set us up, boss. And no, we don’t mind. Never did.” He looked like he was suppressing a grin, and Ren could feel himself relax a little. “There’s just something missing in all your plans.”

“Oh?” He paused, not sure if he wanted to ask the following question but unable to stop himself. “And what would that be?”

Dorian scoffed and crossed his arms, the expression on his face exasperated yet… fond somehow? “You, you idiot.”

The bottom fell out of Ren’s world.

“Wh—” He thought he might be sick. “What does that even mean?”

Dorian buried his face in his hands, leaning his head on Bull’s shoulder. “I can’t do it. Please, just talk to him,” he murmured, the words muffled by his palms.

The Qunari nodded before catching Ren’s eye and smiling at him. It was a slow sort of smile, cat-like in its liquidity as it spread from one corner of his lips to the other, and finally up to his eyes, which crinkled in the corners. “We want you to be part of this, boss. Not as a matchmaker, and not as a friend. _Part of this._ ”

Ren couldn’t help but take a step back, looking to the floor in an attempt to figure out if the whole room was spinning, or just his head. “But… Why?” he managed finally, still refusing to look at the other two. Surely this was some sort of dream; he was bound to wake up any… second… now…

Dorian burst into laughter. “What do you mean, _why_? Because we _care about you_ , you oaf.” He was shaking his head now, an incredulous—and slightly concerned—expression on his face. “I think we broke him.”

“He’ll come round,” Bull replied softly. The next thing Ren knew, there was a pair of large, warm hands on his shoulders and a concerned Qunari searching his face. “Are you alright, boss?”

“Y-yeah. I think so,” he muttered, swaying a little under Bull’s weight. “So you two— You’ve—? You held out all this time waiting for—?”

Bull sighed with what seemed to be relief, loosening his grip on the elf. “See, told you he’d get there.”

Dorian was smiling at him now, and Ren could feel warmth pooling in his stomach and spreading out to every part of his body. His ears must’ve been _burning_.

Without another word, Bull pulled him into a crushing hug. His heart full to bursting, Ren felt another set of arms winding around his waist from behind, Dorian’s cheek coming to rest against the back of his head.

Enclosed between the two of them, Var’enan felt _safe_ for the first time since the Conclave.

It was probably time to invest in a larger bed, though...


End file.
